Anthology of Speculative Fiction, Volume Two

by Short Story Anthology

  “Every time you’ve said that nothing is bothering you.”

  Rachana stared at the table like a child being punished. “Stop it! Bapu’s just trying to protect me.”

  Bharat did not know whether he should curse or bless his daughter’s timing.

  “Protect you!” Indra looked like she was going to throw the plate across the room. “From me? What have I done?”

  “No, no. You’ve done nothing, Indra.” Bharat came around the table, holding his arms out to her.

  She backed away. “Don’t try to comfort me!”

  “Matti. I’m sorry.” Rachana put her head on her hands. “I’m dating a boy at university. He’s coming with this lawyer. That’s what Bapu isn’t saying.”

  Indra caught her breath. “You’re dating.” She swung around to Bharat. “You knew this? And didn’t tell me?”

  “I—It slipped my mind.” He winced. How could something so important slip his mind?

  Again, Indra raised the plate as if she wanted to hurl it. She trembled and lowered her arms. “What’s his name?”

  Rachana peeked over her fingers. “Mukund Krishnasami.”

  “And what does he do?”

  “He’s getting his law degree. Corporate law.”

  Indra nodded. “He’ll make a good living then.” She took a shuddering breath. “Well. We’d better go shopping tomorrow to get you something new to wear. We’ll need to call the cleaning service in—

  “No.” The word surprised Bharat.

  Indra looked at him briefly and then turned back to Rachana. “And I’ll want to meet his parents, of course. Would it be better to have the meal catered or—”

  “Stop!” Bharat pressed his hands against his temples, as his wife’s mouth seemed to hemorrhage money. “We can’t do any of that.”

  Indra slammed the plate against the floor. The porcelain shattered, pieces skittering across the tile. “Why? What are you hiding!”

  Bharat twitched. She wanted to know what he had been hiding, then fine. “We don’t have any money. We spent it all on Deepali’s wedding.”

  “How can you expect me to believe—” He could see the memories of the wedding stride across her face like the elephants which bore the bridal couple off to their honeymoon. Her face paled with understanding. “That’s why you sold the Sauternes?”

  He nodded.

  Indra’s face slowly crumpled. She covered her mouth with her hand, but a moan still escaped from her. Bharat’s heart caught as she began to sob.

  He reached out for her again, but she shook her head and held up her hand, waving him away. Bharat pressed his hands together in supplication. He could do nothing but repeat, “I’m sorry.”

  She lowered her hand. “I thought you were cheating on me.”

  The floor seemed to drop away from him. “What—why?”

  “When you sold the Sauternes, I thought it meant you weren’t expecting more anniversaries. And you’ve been staying out every night for weeks; when you come home you smell like honeysuckle. You hate scented soaps.”

  “I was watering the grapevines.” He forced the rest of the explanation out. “I couldn’t pay the weather bill.”

  “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

  He pressed his hands tighter against his forehead to keep it from splitting open. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Do you have any idea what things I’ve been imagining because I knewsomething was wrong but I didn’t know what it was?”

  “I’m sorry.” Bharat could only repeat the words like a mantra. “I—Deepali’s wedding was so important to the family.”

  “I’m not a child. Even Deepali would have understood if you had told us.” Her chin trembled and she backed away from him. “Twenty-four years—you’ve had twenty-four years to understand me and you still think I’m a doll.”

  “No. Indra, I love you—”

  “But you don’t trust me.” She ran out the door.

  Bharat’s chest felt hollow. He turned slowly away, and saw Rachana still sitting at the table. Her shoulders were hunched like a beaten child.

  “I’m sorry.” There was nothing else left in him.

  #

  Château Latour, Bordeux, Pauilac, 2000

  Simply sublime. Luscious fruit, spice and silky tannins dance gracefully across the palate in this massive yet elegant wine.

  Another perfect morning shone over the vineyard. Bharat stood in the door of the kitchen and cleared his throat.

  Indra turned from her book. “Yes?”

  “The lawyer and her assistant are due at nine. Will you join us?”

  Indra considered him for a moment and then marked her place and put the book down. “Yes. Let me change.”

  As she passed, Bharat inhaled the scent of jasmine she left in her path. He leaned against the wall and shut his eyes. What a fool.

  “Bapu? May I come too?” Rachana stood in the living room, twisting her hands as if she were still a little girl.

  “Of course.” He went to the window. No clouds graced the sky, except over his neighbor’s land. At best, the grapevines at the outer edges would receive moisture from the run-off, but nothing else.

  Indra returned, dressed in work clothes which somehow made her look older and stout. She stood at the window with him.

  He wanted to seek comfort or to comfort her, to wrap his arms around her and bury his face in her hair. But they waited, with silence between them, watching the rain on their neighbor’s land. Rachana paced in the room behind them.

  At half-past nine, an aero swung onto the property. With his wife and daughter creating the picture of a perfect family, Bharat led the way outside. They all had smiles like the day, beautiful and dry.

  A young man got out of the aero. Alone. Fresh-faced and eager, he smiled. His eyes darted to Rachana and his smile broadened, before he held his hand out to Bharat.

  “I’m Mukund Krishnasami. Dr. Tupno had a last minute emergency, but thought we could still record conditions.”

  “Of course.” So this was Rachana’s “friend” from school. With his easy good looks the boy probably had lots of “friends.” Bharat gestured to the vineyard. “Shall we start with the vines?”

  “Please.” Mukund pulled a small camera bag out of the car. “I’m ready to record.”

  “I can carry that for you.” Rachana stepped forward. “So your hands are free to film.”

  “That would be nice.” His hand touched hers too long when he handed her the bag. “Thank you.”

  What sort of man let a woman carry his bag? Bharat crossed his arms over his chest. Beside him, Indra watched the couple thoughtfully.

  Bharat started down the closest row of Shiraz, explaining that he had watered these vines, so they remained reasonably healthy. He kept trying to watch Rachana and Mukund out of the back of his head. Indra followed behind the couple, surely keeping an eye on them, but she was smiling.

  Bharat stopped with his hand on a leaf. When he had last seen her smile?

  After they finished with the first row, Bharat led them deeper into the vineyard, to rows he had not watered yet. The signs of stress were clear to his eye. The shoots were beginning to droop, the leaves were loosing their waxy green luster, not enough to be apparent without looking at a healthy vine, but even that little bit meant the stress would already show in the wine.

  He pointed at a cluster of grapes he had pruned earlier. The cluster lay on the ground, desiccating in the heat. “See. These grapes show the severity of the current conditions.”

  Mukund took pictures but every time Bharat stopped talking about wine, the boy started a conversation with Rachana. Did he think his employer had sent him to flirt with Bharat’s daughter?

  Indra stooped and gathered a raisined cluster from the ground. She plucked a wrinkled berry off the stem and tasted it. “Bharat, what’s that wine made from dried grapes?”

  “There are several. Most come from Italy, but Amarone is probably the best known.
The whole clusters are traditionally dried on straw mats but most people use electric dehydraters now.” Clearly, Rachana needed to explain her behavior with this boy.

  “Have you tasted these?”

  “What?” Whole clusters! He turned his back on Rachana and the boy. “Amarone—do you think?”

  She held out the bunch of dessicated grapes. The flesh had shriveled on them, concentrating the juice in the tiny packets. Bharat plucked a grape and placed it in his mouth. The flavor exploded on his tongue. None of the stressed qualities of the grapes still on the vine showed here. The sugar, acid, and vibrant flavors had been concentrated by the slow evaporation of water through the grape skins.

  He picked up another cluster. They showed the same raisined quality and the flavors were consistent with the first sample.

  This could make an interesting wine. Different. One showing the qualities of the vineyard during this time. Bharat had been so focused on making it rain, that he had not thought about other ways to make wine. In the past, the thinned grapes had only been garbage, not beautiful packets of flavor.

  Indra tilted her head, watching him. “What do you think?”

  He laughed and grabbed her around the waist, lifting her off the ground. “I think you’re brilliant! We can make an Amarone style wine.” He kissed her cheeks. “My love, I would never have thought of this on my own.”

  With her thumb, Indra wiped a tear from his face. “And I would never have thought of it if you had not introduced me to wine.” She nodded past him to Rachana and Mukund. “Do you think they would be good partners for each other?”

  Bharat narrowed his eyes, imagining them in fifty years. “I don’t like the way he makes her carry his bag.”

  “Ah.” Indra shook her head. “I like the way he lets her share his burdens.”

  “Which is what you asked of me.”

  “Yes.” She took his hand. “I promised to be your partner.”

  Bharat looked at the raisined grapes in his other hand. “Will you forgive me?”

  “Forgiving you takes no effort, but I need your trust. That’s what hurt. You did not trust my love for you.”

  Bharat dropped the grapes in the dust and turned fully to her, taking her other hand in his. “I promise to be your true companion and life-long partner from this day forward.”

  She smiled at him and led him forward a step. “Let us take this sixth step for longevity.”

  At the sound of the sixth sutra of their wedding vows, the hollow space inside Bharat slowly filled. He led her into the fifth step, moving backwards through their vows. “Let us take this fifth step to pray for virtuous, intelligent, and courageous children.”

  She looked at Rachana and wrinkled her nose in a smile. “Let us take this fourth step to acquire knowledge, happiness, and harmony by mutual love and trust.”

  The vineyard dropped away, and his world filled with Indra. “Let us take this third step with the aim of increasing our wealth by righteous means.”

  “Let us take this second step vowing to develop mental, physical, and spiritual powers.” Indra leaned forward and kissed him, the scent of jasmine filling his nostrils.

  He kissed her back. “Let us take this first step vowing to keep a pure household; avoiding things injurious to our health.”

  Rachana laughed. “What are you two doing?”

  The steps of the wedding sutras had taken them down the row to Rachana and Mukund. Bharat lifted his head from Indra and smiled at his daughter. “We are having a romantic moment. Go away.”

  Then he held his wife and wept as she pulled him closer.

  #

  Mundari Vineyards, Amarone, 2048

  An odd but interesting wine for the adventurous. Made from dessicated Syrah in an Amarone style. Dried cherry and cranberry favors dominate within an overtly sweet but lively structure.

  Mundari Vineyards, Shiraz, 2048

  The flagship wine from Mudari this year is deeply flawed.

  The result of an ill-considered weather experiment, the wine suffers from flabbiness, high ethanol and queer tequila flavors.

  Bharat handed a printout of the latest copy of Sommelier India to Indra. “It’s here.”

  “And? No—don’t tell me.” Indra started to read and sucked in her breath.

  During Kumari’s legal battle with ISRO, Bharat had not turned the weather control back on. With the sugars concentrated by dehydration, the potential alcohol levels of the grapes were high. The Amarone remained in balance with its residual sweetness, but the dry Shiraz showed coarse flavors and was excessively alcoholic.

  She set the review down. “Oh, my dear. I’m so sorry about the Shiraz.”

  Bharat fought the grin threatening to overwhelm him and handed her another page. “Look at the incoming order forms for today.”

  More orders than they usually received in a month filled the page. “Most of them are for the Shiraz.”

  Indra’s eyes widened as she scanned the order forms. “But—why?”

  The grin broke out, spreading across his face. “The novelty! It’s been at least forty years since a vineyard was stressed by drought.”

  Indra raised an eyebrow, and the corner of her mouth twitched with the beginning of a smile. “Maybe we should put ‘deeply flawed’ on all our labels.”

  “Perhaps.” He laughed, still giddy.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I want you to know that I am very proud of you.”

  Her words poured through him with sweet comfort. “Thank you.” Bharat held her and listened to the rain falling on their vineyard.

  Indra snuggled against him. “What do you think the weather will be like tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know.” He kissed the top of Indra’s head. “But it will be beautiful.”

  Weaving Dreams, by Mary Robinette Kowal

  Eva tossed her backpack on the picnic bench and hollered to Giancarlo. “I’m heading to the creek to cut some willow branches for the summoning spell.”The historian strode up the hill from their car with his gear slung over one shoulder and somehow managed to look like a runway model straight from Milan. “You could bring them with you, you know.” God. His accent just made her knees weak—Inappropriate, Eva. Focus on work.

  She snapped a photo of the area with her phone and texted it to her assistant, Sandra. File under Nunne’hi Project. Sometimes the vegetation changed after one of the Fae or other Hidden Peoples visited, depending on the magic they used.

  “The willow needs to be from here. The local Hidden People like it better when the baskets are of their place.”

  “Why?” He raised an eyebrow, curious, as always.

  “The Hidden People are particular about the specifications for these gifts. Must be living willow, must be made by the person making the request… There are papers on it if you’re really curious.”

  “What do they do with them?”

  “Dunno.”

  “But…but…. You’re—”

  “Not one of the Hidden People, just like you.” She cut him off before he could embarrass them both. People thought that having a Cherokee grandmother gave her a leg up in dealing with the Hidden People. They were so not the same thing.

  “They don’t tell us, and it’s not like we can just go to into a village to check.”

  To be more accurate, no one had been invited across the barrier to the beyond and returned in a timely manner. Standard protocol was to decline an invitation, no matter how tempting. The story of Thomas the Rhymer was a hard-core cautionary tale, even in North America.

  Eva had no wish to be taken under the earth for a score of years. To say nothing of the fact that she had no True Love like Janet in the story to pull her from the Faerie Queen’s hunt, or seven followers like the Sun’s Daughter to put her in a box and bring her back.

  Giancarlo set his bag on the picnic table. “So…. Um. Eva. After we finish this evening. There’s a documentary on Jefferson at the Rialto. Would you—would you like to go? With me?”

/>   Eva opened her mouth to say yes and then closed it. He was asking her out. On a date. Even with her doctorate, it was hard enough getting respect at the university as a witch without adding fraternizing with a client to the list of her “unprofessional behavior.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

  “Oh.” With a face like his, he probably didn’t get turned down often.

  She gestured at the rusted iron camping grill set into the concrete by the table. Focus on business. “You want to start the fire?”

  He shook his head and forced a laugh. “After what happened to Ned, I’m getting the recording equipment set up first.”

  “Oh come on…. He was whistling and using rowan for the kindling. We’ve got pine. Stick with the magically neutral stuff and don’t whistle.”

  He gave her a look with his head cocked, as if she ought to know better. “He still have the rabbit ears?”

  “Last I saw.” Eva fished in the backpack until she found her knife. “Sandra wants him to keep them.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Giancarlo set his webcam on the table.

  “She just wants him to wait until her paper on the Askina has been peer-reviewed.”

  “The Askina—” His mouth dropped as he caught the implication. The Cherokee believed that people had four souls, the Askina, each of which controlled a different aspect of self. “She thinks the rabbit head is a manifestation of a soul? Even though he’s not Cherokee?”

  “Yep. Sandra thinks it’s Ned’s first soul made flesh.”

  “Amazing.” Giancarlo slipped a roll of duct tape over his arm and picked up the webcam. “The usual spot all right for the camera?”

  “Yeah.” She shoved a couple of chocolate bars aside until she found the bags of ground white chalk for marking football fields.

  The rituals to call the Hidden People had distinctive variations based on geography, region, and cultural heritage. Tennessee was decidedly different from England in all three areas. The Fae who’d come over with the European settlers had not caused a pandemic among the local Hidden People population of America in the same way the human settlers had. In the Tennessee hills, they’d intermarried with the Nunne’hi and Yunwi Tsunsdi’.